


Foreign Tongues

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, bawdy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson have sex and speak in foreign languages.  Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign Tongues

 

 

“Why is it,” House said once he’d stopped panting, “you start speaking Swedish when you’re about to come?”

Wilson hadn’t yet caught his breath, so House had to wait for an answer. When it arrived, it was what House expected.

“What?”

He turned to look at Wilson’s profile. “Nert-gif. Kler-spurgle.”

Wilson slowly blinked. “What?” he repeated, to the ceiling.

“That’s what you said this time.”

Wilson closed his eyes.

“Those aren’t actual Swedish words, that I’m aware of. I’m not fluent,” House continued. “But they have that Swedish flair.”

“I see,” Wilson said, eyes still closed.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I think I said it all with _nert-gif kler-spurgle._ ”

“No. You haven’t answered my question.”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t let me have any peace, can you? Not even post-coital peace. I can never just bask.”

“You’ve been basking for minutes,” House informed him. “You’re just so dazed and dopey after sex, you lose all awareness of space and time.”

“I apologize.”

“S’OK, I get it. After I’ve sent you into the throes of ecstasy, it’s only natural that your senses need to shut down temporarily.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“No problem, Björn.”

Wilson pulled briefly at his already thoroughly mussed hair, then let his hand fall heavily to the mattress.

“Do you have to do that?” he asked, still addressing the ceiling. “Now I’m gonna be self-conscious every time we…” He finished with a hand flap.

“Sorry I brought it up,” House chirped. “Just put it out of your little head.”

“I can’t!”

“You’re really an obsessive person, you know that?”

Wilson finally turned to him with a glare.

House propped himself on his elbow and used his other hand to send Wilson’s hair into further disarray.

“The remedy to your malady is clear,” he said, as his hand—surreptitiously massaging Wilson’s scalp here and there—seemed to soothe some of his bedmate’s irritation. “We need to keep your mind and your mouth very busy.”

Wilson was visibly fighting a smile. “You can’t possibly be ready for more. At your age.”

“Oooh,” House said softly, continuing to pull Wilson’s hair into some impressive tufts. He paused to gaze at his creation. “Where’s my phone?”

Wilson frowned. “Why?…No. You’re not taking a picture.” He grabbed House’s wrist.

“Why?” House asked innocently. “You look good.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure I look so good you’ll have the picture made into a banner for the hospital lobby.” Wilson tightened his grip on House’s wrist.

House pushed himself off his elbow and onto Wilson, who didn’t seem too interested in putting up a fight. House used his free hand to grab Wilson’s free wrist.

“Do you really want to start a wrestling match?” he asked, in the low voice he knew Wilson enjoyed. “We both know I have superior upper-body strength.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to spend your time taking pictures of my hair?” He abandoned the wrist hold and slipped his hand to the back of House’s head to pull him down for a kiss.

When they broke for air, House had to concede the point. “You make an excellent argument.”

Wilson smiled lazily before pulling him back down.

 

******

 

“There!” House said, in his best “Ah-ha!” voice. “Did you hear what you just said?”

“House,” Wilson growled. “You better put your hand back where it was, or so help me…”

“You’ll _spleegendorf?_ ”

Wilson glared dangerously. “If _spleegendorf_ is Swedish for ‘kill House.’ Forget it, I’m finishing this myself.”

House swatted Wilson’s hand away from the territory he considered Housedom. Then he replaced his own hand to its rightful position.

“No, no, no,” he cooed, starting to stroke again. “I’ve got this. You just keep doing your thing.”

Wilson gave a breathless little laugh as he began to move again, in earnest. “Riding you is my thing?”

“ _God_ …Fuck yeah, it is.”

A few moments later, House could see Wilson was on the verge. He’d fallen forward a bit and now had both hands on the headboard to brace himself. His eyes were shut tightly, and he was biting his bottom lip so hard House thought he might break the skin.

“You can…be more vocal,” House urged. “Gimme a ‘yee-haw!’”

He lightly smacked Wilson’s ass with his unoccupied hand.

Wilson opened his eyes. “You know,” he gritted out, “I hate it…when you do that cowboy crap— _Oh!_ Oh god.”

He proceeded to whisper to The Almighty until House gave his ass a slightly sharper slap. “C’mon,” House said, fighting to control his own voice. “You…can do waayyy better—” He moaned as Wilson tightened around him. “Jesus, _fuck._ ”

Wilson looked down at him smugly. Or as smugly as he could with his face pink and glistening with sweat, and his hair defying the laws of gravity and style.

At some level, House thought he should not be so turned on by the sight. At groin level, however…

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he wanted to pull some more sounds from Wilson. So he abandoned the ass-slapping in favor of running his fingertips lightly up and down Wilson’s thigh—a simple gesture that, House had learned, always elicited an appreciative shudder.

Then he moved that feathery touch to Wilson’s balls, as his other hand started to stroke with more gusto.

Wilson began to whimper and exhaled a shaky, “ _House,_ ”—which was nice, but not quite enough.

So House started to rock his hips up sharply to meet Wilson’s descent, tearing an “Oh!” from somewhere deep in Wilson’s chest.

House heard the headboard strike the wall with a resounding thud before Wilson grabbed his shoulders and buried his face in the side of House’s neck, where he began to suck rather urgently.

House barely contained an embarrassing sound himself, turning it into an acceptable “Guhhh” at the last moment. Angling his head toward Wilson, he couldn’t resist gently sinking his teeth into that sweet spot between Wilson’s neck and shoulder.

Wilson gasped, his hot breath sending a jolt down House’s spine.

And then House heard it: the longest string of pseudo-Swedish Wilson had yet babbled. He was able to discern only certain sounds—another _nert-gif,_ a _blurgen_ and what seemed to be a _kvorst_ —before he felt Wilson’s release.

House followed in short order, and for a couple minutes there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Wilson lay partway on top of him, carefully avoiding House’s right leg and not seeming to mind the sticky mess between them.

House ran a hand through Wilson’s hair, feeling the damp little curls at the nape of his neck. He listened to Wilson’s breathing start to steady, felt its rhythm start to match the rise and fall of his own chest.

And for a moment, House couldn’t help thinking that this was…nice.

So he felt compelled to ruin it.

“ _God,_ you say the weirdest shit when you’re orgasmic.”

Wilson’s fingertips, which had been drawing lazy circles on House’s chest, suddenly stilled.

House continued anyway. “You’re like Linda Blair in _The Exorcist_ —when she was speaking in tongues to the priest, not the head-turning thing.” He paused, feeling Wilson’s body tense, and realized he better go for a save.

“But you are so much hotter than Linda Blair,” he clarified. “Especially in that movie.”

Wilson slid off the bed. “Thanks,” he muttered as he shuffled to the bathroom.

House sighed and closed his eyes. Once in a while even he wasn’t sure why he said the things he said.

Well, they were funny as hell—that was definitely one reason. But there were times when House knew it would be wise to keep certain witty observations to himself—such as the times when Wilson was naked and wrapped around him. And yet…

Wilson emerged from the bathroom, still naked but much less glow-y than a mere five minutes before. House barely had time to react to the wet washcloth flung at him.

“I’m gonna go watch TV,” Wilson announced.

“Like that?” House said incredulously as he watched Wilson’s bare ass exit the bedroom. “You usually keep your tie on to watch TV.”

No response. He sighed again and started to put the washcloth to use.

He knew just what Wilson was doing. House was always trying to get him to watch TV naked, eat dinner naked, and just generally be naked around the apartment. But Wilson consistently refused, on the grounds of hygiene and similar concepts.

So this solo naked TV-viewing was clearly Wilson’s passive-aggressive way of getting back at him for the Swedish jabs.

As House turned off the bedside lamp and lay back, he comforted himself by picturing Wilson sitting on the floor, on newspapers, rather than allowing his naked glory to contact the sacred leather couch. Still, he couldn’t help noticing, even as he drifted off, how weirdly empty the room felt.

 

*******

 

Wilson had just begun to do the dishes, shirtsleeves rolled up to the appropriate level, water at just the right amount of sudsy-ness. The perfect moment, House decided, to make a move.

He limped up behind his prey and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Ready to turn in?” he asked, close to Wilson’s ear.

Wilson kept scrubbing. “It’s not even 8 o’clock,” he said, sounding puzzled.

“I know,” House replied, resting his chin on Wilson’s shoulder. “But saying, ‘Ready to fuck?’ seemed crude.”

Wilson exhaled a small laugh. “Yes. You do shy away from crudeness.”

When he then carried on with his housework, House knew something was afoot. So he simply tightened his grip and pushed his hips forward, effectively pinning Wilson against the sink.

“Um?” was the only response.

House refrained from growling in frustration. Frustration was what Wilson wanted.

He switched to Wilson’s other ear, in case it was more receptive. “Do I actually have to explain myself here?”

“Uh, no. Do _I_ need to explain that I’m doing the dishes right now?”

“You cannot be serious,” House replied in a low voice, brushing his stubble over the sensitive skin behind Wilson’s ear, before nibbling on the lobe. It was a tried-and-true Wilson turn-on.

This time, however, Wilson remained valiantly unresponsive—though House did see him grip the edge the sink for a moment.

Wilson squirmed to detach House from his ear, then struggled to turn around—no easy maneuver, since House refused to yield any space. Once he’d succeeded, he placed two soapy hands on House’s chest.

“Not in the mood,” he said, flashing his “I’m deadly serious” eyes.

House took a step back. “What’s up your ass? Besides _not me._ ”

Wilson wiped his hands on a dishtowel then crossed his arms.

“Oh, I dunno. I guess I’d like an evening free of mocking, just now and then.”

House squinted. “There’s almost no chance of that.”

Wilson held up a hand. “Right. Let me clarify. I’d like an occasional evening where my sexual…habits are not held up to ridicule.”

House rolled his eyes. “OK, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic about this now? So you babble in some sort of weird language during sex. Who cares?”

“You do, apparently.” Hands went to hips. “You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”

“That’s what I do,” House said slowly, as if speaking to an especially dull child. “I make observations.”

Wilson just shook his head.

“What?” House demanded, growing increasingly annoyed at Wilson’s annoyance. “You know, you should be flattered that I find your every little utterance so fascinating.”

Wilson screwed up his face. “My every little utterance? You ignore half of what I say on a good day.”

“Well, yeah, if you’re talking about grocery shopping, or home repair, or my liver, or ethics, or—”

“I think you’ve made my point, thanks.”

House threw up his hands. “Why is this such a big deal to you? I make fun of you all the time. Usually, you don’t even blink.”

Wilson closed his eyes. “Never mind, House,” he said tiredly.

“Yeah, right.”

Wilson opened his eyes and looked at House for a beat before pushing away from the sink. “I’m taking a shower,” he mumbled as he brushed past. “You can finish the dishes.”

For a few moments, House just remained where he stood, in the middle of the kitchen—what used to be _his_ kitchen, before Wilson moved in with his mortar and pestle, and immersion blender, and fucking egg-poaching cups.

House had accepted all that crap, though. They’d decided to shack up at his place, even though the loft made more sense, because House had been unwilling to part with this constant in his life. So he’d actually been trying to make Wilson feel comfortable, like he wasn’t just a guest.

House hobbled into the living room and sat down heavily on the couch. He could hear the shower running.

The sex stuff, they were still figuring out. They’d only been in a _relationship_ for a few months, and the physical part had been tentative, and sometimes plain awkward, at first.

Wilson, true to his people-pleasing heart, had done his level best to make House happy in bed. Lots of furtive glances during the act, followed by post-sex surveys—“Did you like that last swirly tongue thing?”

It had taken a few weeks for things to become less scripted and more natural. And it had taken longer for House to get Wilson to say what _he_ liked, what he needed. He’d been so reluctant to just fucking relax and let go—like he was afraid to lose control, or afraid that…

House would mock him.

_Oh._

House sat still and listened to the water run. He hadn’t really thought Wilson would take the Swedish thing seriously. It was so stupid, how could he?

He'd just been treating Wilson the way he always had. He thought that was what they were supposed to be doing.

The shower stopped running, and House looked down the hall toward the bathroom. The wet, naked moron behind that door—his best friend, his…whatever—wanted some kind of reassurance. That was not House’s forte.

But he’d give it a shot.

He hauled himself to his feet, limp-marched down the hall and waited in front of the bathroom door that led into the bedroom. When Wilson opened it, clad in a t-shirt and sleeping pants, he gasped. The drama queen.

“Jesus,” Wilson breathed. “You must really need a piss.”

“I don’t care if you speak Swedish,” House said.

Wilson opened and closed his mouth.

House took a deep breath and tried not to roll his eyes. “I don’t care. You can say whatever you want to say, even if it’s stupid.”

Wilson narrowed his eyes. “Oh-kaayy.”

House worked his jaw for a moment. “I didn’t know that whole thing would bug you so much.”

Wilson sighed then rubbed the back of his neck. “It…I know it’s pathetic, but…” He looked at House sheepishly. “I’ve never been made fun of after sex.”

House bit the insides of his cheeks. He had a feeling this would be a bad time to laugh. So he nodded instead.

“Sorry,” he said. And as he heard the word he realized he actually was sorry. “I didn’t mean to…I actually like hearing the weird shit you say, and the sounds you make. They’re just new to me, so…They throw me off.”

House reached out and brushed away a drop of water that had fallen to Wilson’s cheek from his wet hair. “I don’t want you to stop babbling Swedish. I—”

“God, shut up.” Wilson grabbed House’s head with both hands and pulled him down into a kiss. House readily opened his mouth for Wilson’s now minty-fresh tongue. There were advantages to having such a fastidious partner.

When they finally broke the kiss, Wilson was smirking.

“I guess we’re OK, then?” House asked.

Wilson’s smirk softened into a small, genuine smile. He nodded.

“Sooo,” House continued, running his hands up and down Wilson’s arms. “Ready to turn in?”

Wilson gazed at him, the innocent smile broadening into a more R-rated grin. “Knulla mig,” he said, strolling toward the bed.

“What?” House asked, the phrase not registering in his polyglot mind.

Wilson turned around and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s Swedish. Don’t worry—I’ll show you what it means.”

House nodded. He really loved it when Wilson spoke in tongues.

 

 


End file.
